Drabbles
by Ingredient X
Summary: Short drabbles about SolasxLavellan. Some spoilers may be included, so proceed with caution. Update: One chapter out of the bunch is M rated or sexual themes and is been marked appropriately in the preface.
1. Dream a Little Dream

He held her hands delicately as if he was expecting them to float away at any given moment. His long slender fingers were calloused and still underneath hers. By comparison, she gripped tight and dug in like he was the last piece of land between her and a waterfall. She could feel the prickle of the fade in his skin and could hardly keep still. Cha'cer gripped tighter. Solas smiled.

"It's going to be alright," he said.

"I know that." It came out sharper than she had intended. She took a deep breath. "I… know that. I've been there before. This is hardly new."

"But only accidentally," he reminded her, his eyebrow lifting slightly in his own way of asking for confirmation. She nodded.

"I think… I'm ready," Cha'cer said quietly. She breathed in and out slowly. Solas watched her carefully.

"Are you sure you have no more questions?"

"Oh, I have plenty. Just none that will ease my uh…" She offered an apologetic grin, "_tension_."

Solas nodded and added a small pressure to the grip on her hands. They were so much smaller than his. So calloused and scarred. He focused on each bruise, each nick on her far too young skin. He focused on the stones of Skyhold, and the tiny dents and cracks in the surfaces until he could hear the scrape of swords that had long since rusted away. Like a wash of a cool breeze they had found their way into the Fade.

Cha'cer's hands clawed onto his own, her eyes slammed shut. That small muscle in her jaw twitched and her eyebrows had furrowed as far as they could go. For all she had tried to convince him, the Fade terrified her—with good reason. She was no mage, and aside from the gaping tear on her hand, had no connection to it. Every time the Fade touched her, the slaughter of hundreds seemed to follow. Even still she had insisted, _downright stalked him_, until he had promised to take her with him on his next explorations. He had tried to explain what he could of the dangers but she'd waved it away.

"_It doesn't matter," she had said. "I trust you. I don't need to trust the Fade. Right?"_

"_Well—" Solas had started. _

"_Nope. Don't tell me. Something about beliefs shaping the whatevers to suit my whatevers, right? That's great. I believe you can protect me. That should be enough." She had looked so proud. _

Solas squeezed her hands gently and felt her grip tighten. His thumb traced the back of her hands and he focused everything he could into a protective barrier around them. Nothing so flashy as to call attention to them, but enough to keep them safely out of sight. Her expression slowly relaxed to contrast the grip on his hands but he did not mind.

Her eyes fluttered open, wide as saucers and the same shock of blue they always were. They darted from her hands to his face, then very cautiously to the barrier around them. It gleamed and sparkled that eerie blue that veilfire always seemed full of. It was familiar. She breathed.

"Are you alright?" He asked. She looked back at him, startled. That grin of hers broke out faster than he had expected but her fingernails still dug deep into his skin. He waited patiently.

"It's still very green. Lots of rocks, too. Some are floating. Very ominous." She nodded to the pillars around them. The billowing green smoke spiraled somehow neither upwards or down. She was struggling picking something to focus on and it showed. "Not sure I'll adopt the style of décor back at Skyhold, mind you. Upside-down tables with the skulls of mythical creatures doesn't quite capture the aesthetic I'm going for."

He laughed. "Oh? And what is the desired aesthetic, Vhenan?"

Her eyes caught his for longer this time. They watched him curiously and waited for him to back-track, to pretend he had said something else, or to change the subject. Solas waited in patient silence. Her hands softened in his. She glanced at the barrier, then back at her own hands. Very carefully and with deliberation, she took one hand out of his grasp, careful to keep the other locked on. The hand with the anchor, Solas noted with interest. She pressed her palm against his like she could hide it from the Fade somehow if she only made it invisible. Her other hand very slowly touched the ground they sat upon. It was the same stone as her balcony in Skyhold but different. The marks were darker, more defined. Fresh. Her fingers traced the sharper edges.

"It's younger here, isn't it?" She asked.

"Yes," he said, still watching her. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"You've brought me to a memory, haven't you?"

Solas nodded. He couldn't keep his eyes off her. It was the way she soaked in the castle around her like it was a secret—the reason he had agreed. Despite her fears, her curiosity was genuine. Cha'cer's hand never so much as shifted in his but she somehow maneuvered into a sitting crouch. He moved the barrier to follow. She looked back at him wide-eyed but he smiled back.

"You're safe, lethallin. I promise."

She swallowed again. She twisted her mouth up in a concentrated scowl and stood up, yanking him up with her. He followed her stiff gesture with grace that came with experience and decided not to comment on it for now. Instead, Solas placed a gentle hand on her waist and guided her towards the balcony door.

"I want you to imagine the courtyard," he said. She shot him a wary look.

"Will I like this?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." He gestured towards the door. She frowned at him. He met her gaze evenly. She sighed and pushed the door open in a rush.

Like only the Fade could, they were standing in the rubble of the courtyard. In it, all the stone steps that been recently painstakingly repaired lie in ruin. Dust picked up in the green winds and blew harshly against their skin. The flowers were loud and violently tearing into the remaining structure with clawing vines and stems. The grass was overgrown and decayed in some spots. The smell leaked through strong, like soil, like rain, like sweat. Some of the less defined dust floated upwards towards the nothingness like they were uncertain they belonged to this memory. Cha'cer's eyes reflected it all in detail. She pressed into his side and squeezed his hand once.

"When is this?" She asked.

Instead of answering, he guided her to look towards the gates of Skyhold instead. Not a few metres away, the iron wrought chains lay uselessly around the stone arches. The bridge, however carried a person clad in robes and a staff. The person, no _elf_, pushed dangerously onwards through the wind and the biting dust with one arm up to shield his face. Cha'cer sucked in a breath. She would've recognized his face anywhere.

"Can he—er, you—see us?" She asked, glancing from the shadow of Solas to the real one beside her.

"It's more complicated than that, Vhenan. What you're seeing isn't me. It's a reflection. And your beliefs—"

"-shape the Fade. I know, I know. Bunch of mage mumbo-jumbo." She grumbled without malice.

The figure approached with the lofty indifference that came with dreaming. His staff pushed into the ground like it was no more than a hiking stick. He bundled his robes tight around his torso and shielded his face until his first few steps into the shelter of the castle walls. Only then did the figure stop to take account of his whereabouts. Some things about that Solas were the same; bare feet, minimalist clothing, and the jawbone strung up around his neck. But there was something in his face that felt older. Cha'cer leaned forward without thinking, taking slow steps closer. Solas kept hold of her hand and followed silently. The false Solas mirrored her in step until they were close enough that their noses could have touched. Without warning, the false Solas looked at her. Really looked at her. She froze mid-step like a rabbit suddenly spotted by a wolf.

His eyes were different. They did not carry the soft wisdom of her Solas, nor the warmth. There was coldness and something feral. More than anything, there was sorrow etched into his features. He looked gaunt and weary, like he was seconds away from sleep that just would not come. The way he looked at her was lonely and desperate. It was hungry.

Just as quick as the thought had occurred to her, the false Solas stepped through her like a ghost and continued his journey into the fortress without comment. Cha'cer flinched and shuddered. The feeling left her with a hiss of his cold and anger, _so much anger_, passing through her bones. She turned with the memories movement only to find the false Solas gone, replaced by the entirely real one. He looked at her, eyes full of concern. It was so different, so harshly different that she could hardly believe they were the same.

"Memories are shaped too, yes?" She asked cautiously. He nodded.

"To the emotions of those who lived it, yes. This was my memory and my emotions, I'm afraid." He paused. "I wanted to show you how I was… before. It's not wholly accurate as you have pointed out, but it felt the best way to... well. Show you." He stumbled on his words. It had seemed like a grand idea at the time, and now was looking awfully pathetic.

She looked at him like he was delicate. Her eyebrows tilted upwards in something like confusion. She brushed her free hand to his cheek and rested it lightly at the base of his neck. He couldn't meet her gaze. Her pity was not the goal of this, not the conclusion he had wanted. She had offered so much of herself to him, to the Inquisition, to the people she protected and he just wanted to have offered something. Perhaps to make up for his mistakes in some small way.

"You should give yourself more credit," He could hear her smile and looked up. The crooked grin greeted him like she always did. "You're far more handsome than you remember."


	2. Goodbye

This Lavellan does not belong to me. Saevin is elvencommander's and she is a precious gem that does not deserve this.

…

The room was more empty than usual, somehow. The thin air around the castle bit into the tiny nicks and bruises on her bare arms with teeth sharper that the tainted dragon. The legs of the bed had been bent and broken and the books had been shaken from her shelves to be thrown askew across the carpets. Absently, she picked one up and tried to return it to the shelf she soon discovered to be just as broken. The book fell from her grasp with a soft thump and Saevin quickly followed. Her robes barely sheltered her already sore knees from the shards of carefully dyed Seraultine glass and it all meant nothing. None of the books, the fancy Dalish decorations, none of the exquisite window panellings mattered.

She heard herself sobbing as if from a distance. She couldn't feel it, couldn't emulate it. Her shoulders were shaking but they weren't her shoulders. Her voice twisted into something she had sworn she had heard in the fade but the wetness on her hands told her this was real. Corypheus was dead and gone, his dragon obliterated. She had won. She had won. _She had won_.

And he was gone.

The anchor still rested in the palm of her hand. Green flames licked out hungrily at the world around that matched the hushed tones from the well. _He exists_, they hissed into her ear. _Foolish child. He will always exist. He does not exist for you_. Saevin wanted to scream, but wretched cries choked her throat. Her eyes slammed shut. Existing made it worse. It meant he had not been taken from her but that he had left. She didn't want him to exist. She wanted to be home, to be back by the fires and the aravels. She wanted her vallaslin to be back and meaningful as the day the needles pierced her skin. She wanted the keeper to have chosen someone else for the damned shem conclave. She covered her ears and pressed hard. The voices did not care. They beat upon her mind like the Blight itself. She could hear them now as well as if she were standing next to the source.

_He is here, _the voices shrieked, then fell silent.

Her heart pounded. Her fingernails had dug into the skin around her ears and each spot throbbed as she slowly removed her hands. Blinking her eyes open, Saevin could barely bring herself to look up. If it was a trick, if he wasn't actually…

Solas stood in the center of the room as if nothing had happened. His robes were the same plain green they had always been, as unruffled as the day they had met. He looked at her and flinched away. His eyes locked insistently on the designs on the drapes. He had insisted once that the stories they portrayed were incorrect, and that her keeper had been wrong. Saevin had argued until she was red in the face. Now they were just drapes. She couldn't look away. She would have given anything to argue over drapes again.

"_Vhenan_, I'm—"

"Don't call me that."

He looked at her again. Sorrow shaded the thinness around his eyes and cast shadows. She regretted her words, but still did not think she could hear that damn word again for the rest of her life. Suddenly self-conscious, she wiped at her cheeks until the tears had been removed. It was far too late to pretend they hadn't happened, but some vicious part of her wanted him to see what he had caused. She pushed herself off the floor and tried to hold herself with the dignity and strength her keeper had taught her. He didn't look away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She swallowed. She tried to keep her focus, but salt kept prickling at her eyelids so she walked out onto her balcony instead. His soft footsteps fell in line behind her own. Her heart hammered in her throat and her fingers clutched into fists. The voices of the well rattled around in her mind like they had a story to tell but could not overcome the persistent silence. He was protecting her from them even now.

"_I know a spell," he had said. "It won't remove the effects of the well, but," She had just felt the death of a foot soldier. The voices told her about his family, about the significance of his death but all she saw was a young man smeared across the stone. She had nodded numbly._

Though Solas' eyes were averted, he offered no shame. His shoulders held back, his stance was firm; had they been on the grassy fields in the Hinterlands Saevin would have sword he was about to reign unholy terror on their enemy of the hour. Hot tears welled and blurred her vision without her permission. she brought a balled fist to her cheeks and furiously scrubbed. It wasn't fair, _wasn't fair_ that he could just stand there so spotless and proud. She had saved the damn world it left her broken. Saevin was a First, not some squalling infant and yet her heart beat harder each second he wouldn't look at her.

"What is it then?" Her voice cracked but she ignored it. "Is it because I'm Dalish? Come to gloat?"

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. There was nothing bashful in his stride. He took no patience, no gentle steps towards her. He was suddenly close, closer somehow then when they had danced but the intimacy was foul. His eyes bored into her without mercy but pride would not have her look away. Saevin did not shrink. She kept her shaking knees firm and gripping the handrail for dear life. His breath came evenly but it suggested a calm that was barely tempering the storm. He started to speak slowly but Saevin took the bait.

"Did you remove my vallaslin only to show more disdain for my people?" Her words were cutting in and she knew it. "Was it a _joke_ to you? Was I a joke, Solas?"

"Do not be so foolish to presume the Dalish," he snarled the word and the air around him crackled with power like Saevin had never seen, "would be able to hold sway on my actions or my feelings for you."

"A fat lot of good your feelings have done, Solas. Do not forget who _left_." Saevin felt faint, unsure how she was forming the words. He was so close now, close as the day she kissed him. She could feel her eyes wide and watering but she could not look away from the anger in his eyes. It was alien and predatory, speaking nothing for the gentle patience she had known. As she schooled her expression back to an appropriate steely calm she watched his falter. Regret flooded his features as quickly as the wrath left and he looked away once more.

"I cannot stay _vhenan_, and I do not wish to spend this on fights." His voice was softer. "If you would have me leave say it and I shall be gone."

Her neck ached from holding her chin high in the way he used to tease her about and she wanted so bad to relax. She wanted so badly for him to kiss her, to take it all back, something. She wanted him to know exactly the ripping in her chest and she wanted to twist the fucking knife.

"Is this it, then? Are you to disappear forever from me?" she said. The words sounded stronger than she felt. She stopped herself from continuing and blinked the familiar hot sting from her eyes. He watched her carefully. Softness flickered across his eyes as he caught a tear she had missed. She savagely wished for more. "Is this another lesson for me?"

"No," he said. "This… This was a mistake. A cruelty I should not have afforded. I'm so very sorry, _vhenan_."

Saevin choked on a laugh. She clamped a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry, she would not cry, she would not cry. She focused on her breath and thought of the hymns her keeper had sung her. Nothing worked. Tears flowed on her cheeks and a harsh hiccup bubbled up her throat. She fell against the balcony railing and sunk to the ground. The stone was hard and cold against her back and she tried as best she could to focus on it. The hand she pressed to her mouth shook.

"How can you call me that and still insist you must go?" She could not stop the sobs. She could barely see him slouch down next to her. It was a tired and graceless movement, nothing like her Solas. Her _pride_.

"I could not call you something you are not." The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable now. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. She quivered in his arms and moaned out something unintelligible. Her sobs came out wretched and broken, barely able to pause for breath. He pressed his nose to the top of her head and kissed her. His arm moved outside her limited field of vision to grasp something briefly and returned to press something cold and hard into her palm.

"You have my heart, Saevin. Please know this."

His voice shook, but Saevin couldn't look to see if he cried with her. All she knew was that sometime within the hours she sat there, the warmth around her turned as frigid and sharp as the blackened jawbone necklace she clutched in her hands. He was gone.


	3. The Shrine

While there were no greens directly surrounding Skyhold, there was a small valley about fifteen minutes away. It was a hike that involved a few precarious jumps, some crawling, and invariably a whole host of bumps and bruises but it was worth it on the odd day that Cha'cer missed her clan. Surely it would have been easier to erect small statuettes in the garden inside the walls of the fortress, but she was of the firm belief that without being in the wild open there was no point to the Dalish or their rituals. They were something that could not be domesticated into society again. They were fiercely proud, stubborn, and as Solas would have said: wildly inaccurate.

She had been so worried the first time he'd declared injury from her people. He'd said something along the lines of being brutally attacked for 'no reason whatsoever' when he had offered 'insight'. She'd poked and prodded for more details but he adamantly refused any such information. It had taken her a grand total of two months to have him admit that it was "sort of" about religion. Until this morning she had just figured it was some silly little thing he had held onto out of scholarly pride.

When Leliana had knocked on her door, her heart had stopped in her chest. She could count on one hand the times the spymaster had found it appropriate to seek her out; one of those times being in a dungeon with a rather angry Cassandra concerning a hole in the sky. The last mission she had sent the spymaster on had been a deeply personal one. It hadn't been more than a year since Solas had disappeared. At first Leliana had been insistent on looking for him. She was so sure that his disappearance was a bad sign but Cha'cer hadn't wanted to hear it. Sending out a search party somehow equated to her accepting that he was really gone; that he had really left her. Instead she practiced the breathing techniques he had taught her on the battlements with a sharp eye out on the horizon. If he was to ever return she wanted to be the first to see it.

This morning Leliana had looked nervous. She had her hood down and had elected to wear one of the nicer dresses she had purchased since the end of the war—matched impeccably with the perfect shoes, of course. She smiled and greeted her like an old friend with a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands. There was even a small hastily pulled flower stuck in what looked like an old broken glass with some filthy water at the base of the stem. Cha'cer had raised her eyebrows and tried to ignore the painful beating in her chest.

"_What's the occasion? I hadn't planned on another breach for at least three more weeks," the elf joked. _

"_Hardly a laughing matter, Lavellan," Leliana had said, but she smiled nonetheless. It did not put Cha'cer at ease. Cha'cer took the tray of food from her and placed it carefully on her desk. She turned around to face the spymaster. _

"_Well then. Are you going to tell me what's so urgent?" She picked her words with care. _

_Leliana's smile faltered. Cha'cer's heart fell. _

"_Perhaps it would be best if you sat down." Leliana had gestured awkwardly to the chair next to her._

_She had, and Leliana had been right to suggest it. The words bounced off her like arrows to a shield. She had let the poor spymaster struggle to make her observations seem real, but she had come well equipped. Maps tracing the times he had been seen, marks here and there to indicate eluvians, and then the list of omens. At first she had laughed. But then Leliana showed her the logs of the clans nearby: each omen checked off the list without fail. It was unmistakable. Cha'cer had sat in silence for hours as Leliana went over it again and again. _

"_It seems absurd, I know, I realize that—"_

"_Enough," Cha'cer said. Leliana had nodded and left her with all the painstakingly constructed maps and notes scattered across the floor like a puzzle that ended in heartbreak no matter how she pieced it together. _

So here she was, headed stubbornly towards that garden valley. She had already slipped up several times and nearly thrown herself off a cliff twice. A bright shiny new bruise was already forming at the crest of her cheek but she had made it. It was a ramshackle little imitation of an elvhen place of worship, but it did the trick. Tiny statuettes of all the gods were barely peeking over the tips of the tall grass she had so carefully trimmed last year. He'd helped her, grumbling the whole way about the gods being locked away anyways according to the 'wildly inaccurate' myths so what was even the point? She had hushed him, explained something about Keepers with sticks up their asses being oddly comforting in times of uncertainty. He had given her a look somehow mashing together begrudging respect and disapproval. Today, however, Cha'cer walked past Falon'din and Mythal (with a small raspberry aimed at the latter) to the tiny stone statue of a wolf that Solas had left.

"_If you insist on ritual, vhenan, then I must insist on some reason to it," he had said, placing the wolf on top of a stone where the grass would not grow. _

"_Ah, yes," she had said, "Nothing like the great betrayal to add reason to my prayers. Tell me, what am I praying to Fen'harel for?"_

"_You ought to pray for nothing," he told her stubbornly. "Speaking to stone rarely yields results. But if you must pray then at least be sure it is a god that can still hear you." _

She had laughed and accepted that, jokingly placing a ring of flowers around the tiny wolfs head to welcome him back into the lonesome group. The daisies had long since wilted and rotted. Only a few stems remained on the stone around the wolf where she had placed them. With a careful hand, she brushed the pieces aside and sat down. Cha'cer had never been great at prayer or ritual. She took it with a grain of salt and often got chastised for treating the gods with too much trust and familiarity. In retrospect, her keeper had been spot on.

"So. I heard the news," she told the statue. She paused, half expecting a response. The wolf remained as silent and stone-like as ever.

"Fen'harel, huh?" She laughed. "I thought you said you'd been attacked for 'no reason'. A bit of an understatement, isn't it?"

The wolf stared back at her accusingly and she relented with a nod. Absently her fingers found the stems of buttercups growing in the grass beside her knees and pulled at each one until it snapped.

"I suppose that's as good a reason as it can get for leaving," she said quietly. She followed up quickly with, "And before you give me that bloody lecture about responsibility, burdens, and _sacrifice_, I'm not angry. Not anymore."

"Gods," she muttered. "I'm talking to a souvenir. I'm the fucking Inquisitor and I'm talking to a toy from Val Royeax."

The wolf sat patiently, its gaze unwavering. She offered it a small silly smile. She felt ridiculous and she knew he would think her ridiculous.

"He hears you, I think."

Cha'cer whirled around. The small pile of flowers she had accrued flew from her lap. She had her daggers pulled and ready only to find Cole watching her. His large hat dropped comically on either side of his nonchalant face. He did not flinch. It nowhere near the first time he had startled her. Cha'cer slung her daggers back into their sheaths and sat again with a sigh.

"You think so?" She asked softly. "Or are you saying that to help me heal?"

Cole smiled. "I think you've healed nicely, but some hurt will stay. I cannot help that."

He paused, checking the statue. His eyes widened. He blinked a few times and Cha'cer couldn't help but look behind her just in case. The stone wolf stood vigilant as ever. When she looked at Cole again it was his eyes that shone a brilliant green. The unearthy colour beamed out like it could barely be contained. The sheltered valley was suddenly full of a great howling wind and she had to shield her eyes from the debris it threw. Tendrils of smoke curled and muttered from his mouth, hissing at the winds. She recoiled in horror. Her knuckles were white on the grip of her daggers but fell limp when he spoke.

"_Ma ar'lath, vhenan. Ma emma solas_." Cole's mouth moved, but it was Solas' voice. A year passed or not she could never forget the timbre. Her hands were shaking but she knew she had no time. She grabbed Cole's hands, _Solas's hands_, as quick as she could ignoring the soft cold pallor of the spirit. She shook them fiercely and pleaded with the green light.

"Come home, _vhenan_. _Please_. I miss you so much—"

But her voice fell on deaf ears. Before she had even completed the sentence the light dimmed until Cole was himself again. She let his hands go and sat back. Cole watched her crumple back into the earth. It took her hours to regain enough strength to return to Skyhold.


	4. Reincarnation: The Dick-Nugget Story

Firstly, thank you guys for the reviews and the support! I really appreciate it. Just desperately trying to fill my need for fic of this heart wrenching couple, ya feel? So if you have any prompts or ideas, please feel free to throw them at me.

This is just a tiny update because why not.

….

_Pop. _

It had been a week since he'd woken. The world was overwhelming to say the least and for not the first time, he was alone in it. It hardly been a week since he had been disturbed for the second time in his life and he'd been hit by two 'cars', had someone insist on taking something called a 'wallet', and missed a train he wasn't even sure he wanted to take. The people just crammed themselves into the enormous metal tube as if hurtling themselves at ungodly speeds in an unknown direction was natural. Solas remained firmly planted on the subway station bench, refusing to partake in any of the barbarism. He would wait patiently until he could walk into the bizarre replacement for horses like a dignified elvhen god.

_Pop_.

The bench offered no comfort. He stubbornly sat tall though it was easily the fifth or sixth hour of the endeavor. Several bards had attempted to illicit either a reaction or coin (of which he gave neither) and a few extraordinarily scented individuals tried to do the same. It certainly was not a hole in the sky, but there was a certain chaos that—

_Pop_.

Solas's eyes snapped to his latest bench companion with the horrifying mouth condition. A thin awful pink substance blew up into a bubble before her lips. Slowly, painstakingly, it grew until it was the size of a flask then—

_Pop_.

"Would you mind?" He scowled at her, for the first time looking somewhere other than the pink mess. Huge violet-blue eyes peered at him beneath immaculately shaped brows lined with small metal rings. Her hair was a feathered blue black, cut in the traditional style of a warrior, somehow framing perfectly her slender neck and sharply featured face. The dark purple lipstick was unmistakable. _Cha'cer_.

She sucked the pink substance back between her lips and grinned that lopsided grin he was so sure he'd left thousands of years behind. The single brow raised told him everything he needed to know was coming next. His heart fluttered like it was only now revived from uthenara. Neon nails that had been chewed and picked til they were bloody reached up to shove away the enormous corded device she had blocking her slender ears. He had so many questions. He couldn't look away.

"Let me tell you something, Baldy," she said. It was her voice. Her voice. "I just worked a fucking fourteen hour shift at a fucking dollar store. Do you know what that means, dick-nugget?"

He shook his head. What on earth was a dick-nugget?

"It means I've spent the last fourteen hours of daylight getting called a flat-ear by some shemlen fuck-ups. That means I don't give a flying fuck whether or not you mind. So take your filthy fucking pajamas and find another fucking bench to meditate on or some shit. Fuck, and get some shoes. Ass-hat."

And she said it all with a smile. She'd told him once that she did that just so her enemies knew when she took them down just how little they meant to her. He never thought he'd be thrilled to be on the receiving end but there he was. He was giddy.

"What the fuck are you grinning about?"

_Pop._


	5. Barriers

Hi friends! A longer update this time to make up for the short stuff yesterday. Again featuring my Lavellan, Cha'cer. Hopefully you all aren't sick of her yet, haha. As always if you have ideas, throw them at me! Thanks!

I.

….

Cha'cer's metal sheathed knuckles hit the Templars chin with a satisfying crack. His head snapped back in surprise and his shield arm faltered. She watched his left foot move back to catch his weight. As soon as it made contact with the grass she dropped down low and slashed her dagger in a wide arc. A rush of thick gurgling red gushing just under his knee and a limp step rewarded her before she rolled out of the path of his swinging axe. She pushed herself off the ground as fast as she could and immediately regretted it as her vision flooded with a brilliant blue. The usually steady rogue wobbled. Cassandra's shield slammed into the quickly fading Templar, but Cha'cer saw the archer not far from her raise his bow and just couldn't orient herself fast enough. Two of his arrows bounced off the offending blue barrier but the third bedded itself in the thick padding on her right thigh with a _thwack_.

The elf let out a strangled yelp. In one fluid step she had her dagger palmed and thrown viciously into the eye of the archer. He fell over with the scream of a man about to die and she leapt on the opportunity. She heaved herself towards him with as much strength from her uninjured leg and brought her weight down in the form of a dagger across the back of his neck. She and the archer came crashing down together. Cha'cer made a point to land on her left hip and keep pressure off the right, but the damn soldier managed to tweak the arrow with a spasming arm before finally going still.

She kept her leg held up as she situated herself with only mild discomfort. Looking around for something to keep her leg elevated, she found the fresh corpse to be good enough. She snatched the bloodied collar of the archer and dragged the limp body underneath her injured leg before carefully setting her leg down on top of it. The arrow protruding from her thigh had a thick coating of slick grime. Hopefully not poison, she thought. Thankfully, not a lot of blood had been lost. The sticky red splotch in her thigh guard told her that the cut was shallow at best, not-serious at worst. Working off the adrenaline still pumping in her veins, Cha'cer pushed one of the leather bits of her collar between her teeth with one hand and grasped the base of the arrow with the other.

"Take your hand off the arrow, _da'mi_." _Little blade._ Solas waved for her attention as he made his way over.

She spat out the leather strap, shot Solas an irritated look, and did no such thing. She did however, decide to wait before pulling it out herself. The taller elf approached, unbothered, to sit at her side. He made a face at the corpse but did not press. Somehow through invading several bandit camps he managed to look exactly the same as he had when they'd left Skyhold. No blood stains, no bruises, not even a tear on the fabric. Cha'cer looked down at her own state of affairs. Three new tears in the pants (not including the arrow), four new no-quite serious wounds (not including the arrow), and one new bloodied weapon (the arrow). Solas took time and care to situate himself properly. He adjusted his robes just so that they wouldn't be in the way of his work. As he dug through his pouches for vials of bitter liquids and powders, Cha'cer wiggled her leg impatiently. Her hand was still stubbornly wrapped around the arrow.

"I see it, _da'mi_-" he said patiently before rapping the tips of her knuckes just sharply enough to make her let go. She scowled at him. He did not appear to notice. "—and I am working on it. Be still."

She had half a mind to pull the arrow out just to spite him. However the adrenaline was starting to run low and the ache of a muscle injury set in. She decided instead to lean back on her elbows and watch him work.

"I am not inclined towards superstition, as you well know," he started. Cha'cer snorted. He was referring to Dalish religion. He continued, "But seeing you fight is certainly a testament to your sheer luck."

It was not intended as a chastisement (probably) but it still earned him an icy glare. He raised his eyebrows in what must have been feigned innocence.

"Perhaps I would manage to demonstrate more luck without occasionally being _blinded_," she said.

This time her tone was not missed. His eyes narrowed just slightly—almost imperceptibly—before concentrating on his work. He poured a vial of nastily stinging goop around the penetration site of the arrow. Cha'cer clenched her fists and jaw to keep from flinching. Warriors did not flinch. He dipped long slender fingers into a pouch of powder and dusted his hands with it before pressing one to the wound. _Warriors do not flinch_. The other hand wrapped around the base of the arrow. _Warriors do not flinch_. Without warning he yanked and Cha'cer hissed with pain. It appeared she would continue to remain in the shadows and leave warrioring to someone more suited, she thought glumly. He dropped the arrow next to her without ceremony and pressed both hands to her thigh. The powder had some cooling relief, at least. He shot her a sympathetic look.

"Would you rather I let the other two arrows find their mark?" he asked.

He moved one hand to make a small pointed x's on her shoulder and throat. She did not miss his meaning nor the breath she didn't know she was holding. He seemed pleased. She scrunched her nose up and shook her head determinedly. Soft touches and the stupid thing he did with the eyebrows was not going to work this time. Cha'cer still had floating spots in her vision from the blast of fade light.

"Preferably not, no, but do your barriers have to be so bright?" she said. It was his turn to scowl.

"My barriers are excellent the way they are. Less bright means less shield, _da'mi_."

"Then less shield couldn't hurt."

Solas outright laughed at that. "I think hurt is exactly the word you're looking for. A few arrows short of dead, even."

"That's not true!" She sounded petulant and she knew it. He had his hands on her latest wound as they spoke. "I bet you I could last a match with Cassandra without a single barrier."

"Is that so?" His eyes sparkled, something he usually did when he felt he was about to make a point. She kept her chin high and kept her gaze level. She tried hard not to smile. "And what will you bet on this?"

His hands shifted so he could reach back into his pouch for bandages. The roll that had been thick that morning was maybe a quarter of the size it had started. The smaller elf pursed her lips. Cassandra was not far off, polishing the blood and teeth off of her enormous shield and scowling at something Vivienne was saying. Cha'cer chewed her lip. His hands tucked around her leg now dragging a little and lingering where he did not have to if he were only applying bandage. She flushed and grinned at him. He smiled back with no more than a raised eyebrow to give himself away.

"Another kiss," she named her price. She turned her head so that their noses almost touched and gave her most determined look. His eyes widened in shock and he nearly fumbled the bandage. It was though saying it out loud had broken the spell by acknowledging the magic existed. She almost thought she'd lost him on it but the glimmer hadn't quite left his eye. He gave her a look she didn't quite have a name for.

"Alright, _da'mi_. So be it."

…

II.

…

It was just past sunset in Skyhold. Streaks of violent orange tore through the sky around them. Torches from the gathered crowd warmed and lit the stones like the daylight hadn't left. Oddly enough the enormous very drunken crowd did not offer Cha'cer much comfort or courage. Iron Bull shouted vulgar cheers that mostly ended in head-butts and 'horns up'. She had no idea what on Thedas that would have translated to for her; a tiny very overwhelmed, very far from being the resident rabbit Dalish hunter of the Lavellan clan. No, instead she was here facing what was undoubtedly certain death. No more than a few metres away Cassandra paced with a polished sword and shield. Her armour glistened no more than what Cha'cer was sure was murder in her eyes. The elf cast a nervous glance at the crowd on her side of the courtyard. A round of hearty cheers and an extremely smug looking Solas. She gave her widest grin and lifted her dagger in the air. Her team roared.

Solas laughed. He had been kind enough to spread the rumor of the duel though no one she had spoken to seemed to know exactly what the stakes were. Some of the newer recruits had been convinced it was a fight to the death to see who should carry the title "Inquisitor". As far as Cha'cer was concerned, Cassandra could have that. The stakes were much, much higher. Steeling herself, she faced the raw strength staring her down across the yard. Behind her, Solas' face fell from cheerful to that of one who'd just realized they'd made a grave error.

…

III.

…

"Oh it's not _that_ bad," Cha'cer coughed, waving away Solas's concern. She had been placed on the surgeon's makeshift stretcher. She wasn't entirely sure if it was necessary or just ceremonial. Blackwall and Bull lifted each end onto their shoulders and she was suddenly very high. From her cloth throne, Cha'cer twisted painfully over enough to raise a dagger at a fretting Cassandra. The recruits roared and lifted their drinks in response. Solas directed the two hulking men to her quarters in urgent hushed tones nonetheless.

Every step bounced the wound in her side just a bit more. She gagged a little and tasted copper. Adrenaline was still flowing through her from the fight and the wound was distant enough from her mind that she only winced a little when they let her down on the bed. She had, much to her delight, more than enough strength to shoot Solas a victorious grin. She was sure it would have been much more dashing without the tint of blood, but it worked nonetheless. He gave her an exasperated look.

"Lie back, would you?" His sounded irate. She pouted but did as he asked. He pulled the stool from her desk over near the bed and roughly dumped his sack of medical supplies on the ground. One quick glance at the blood gushing from her side and he abandoned the pile. Instead he quickly began undoing the buckles of her leather chest plate and vest. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Usually I'd make you buy me dinner first, but this time I'll let it slide," she said.

"It is not the time for jokes," Solas snapped.

"Surely it's not too serious." She tried to sit up and look only to have her shoulders firmly held down. She felt a bit dizzy. Cha'cer looked at him with a twinge of fear in her wide eyes. His expression softened.

"No, it's not serious, _da'mi_. Not lethal, anyway," he assured her. "It is a wound, however, that was _entirely_ unnecessary."

She looked hurt. He avoided her gaze. His hands slid along the edges of her tunic nervously pushing the fabric up. Solas was careful to leave her covered as much as could be helped, and careful to keep his gaze on the wound in front of him. The mage had imagined seeing the bare skin of her midriff in plenty of other ways, none of which he was deserving of. The wound before him was his fault. He had encouraged the notion and worse, failed to prevent it when he saw it happening. Magic poured from his fingers into her skin and she gasped. He did not stop. Cha'cers skin was knitting back together at unnatural speed. The amount of power he was using was dangerous, he knew, but she was worth the risk. A risk she had taken. For him. He had been so foolish.

"You still don't believe me, do you?" Cha'cer interrupted his thoughts with a hand on top of his own. The blood on her fingers smeared over the tips of his knuckles. He did not look at her or answer. She squeezed gently. "Look at me, Solas."

He did not want to. He didn't want to see the wide eyes full of curiosity he might have lost, or the purple stained lips that could have stilled. He did not want to see the blood smeared on her tunic or the curve of her breast underneath. She tucked her hand under his chin and gently guided him instead. His jaw clenched uncomfortably and he furiously blinked back the fury that stung his eyes. She tilted her head and caught his eyes with her own.

"I am alive—"

"_Fenedhis, da'mi_, it was my fault, I shouldn't have—"

"Solas, _hush_."

He did.

"I am alive and I won. Just barely, obviously," she laughed a bit, winced, then continued. "And… _perhaps_ you may have been sort of a _little_ bit right about the barriers."

He smiled despite himself.

"But the point is that I won. Without them. You do not need to fret over me regarding battles." She offered him a proud grin. "Though, it may be a good idea to check up on me after such battles. Just in case, y'know?"

He laughed. She cupped his cheek and brushed it lightly with her thumb. He leaned into it just lightly. His hands continued to press magic into her abdomen trying to discreetly alter the time around her wound until the start of a scar started to form. Without Vivienne or Dorian to witness and a bandage to cover it, he could get away with pretending he knew anything about healing magic of the mundane variety. Her hand covered his again and squeezed. He looked at her and she had the lopsided grin that meant trouble. His eyebrows raised slightly.

"You know what else that means?" She practically purred under his touch. He was suddenly very aware of how warm she was. How soft and alive she felt. His breath caught. The warrior beneath him had won their gamble fair and square; no tricks involved. Keeping one hand pressed to her side, Solas leaned forward to touch their noses lightly. She traced the line of his jaw, open affection clear on her face. Her eyes were honest.

With just a tilt of her chin she brought their lips together. It was harsher than the fade, full of real skin and real heat. She hummed and pressed closer. He leaned into her harder unable to stop the hungry desire burning in his heart. She cried out and he realized he'd put too much of his weight on her wound. Magic or not it was still fresh. He broke the kiss hastily. Cha'cer gave him an apologetic look, nuzzling his cheek instead.

"Perhaps the prize could be altered, if you'd be so kind as to let me change the terms after a clear victory," she said. He grinned.

"Depends on the suggested changes," he said.

She patted the bed beside her. He shot her an alarmed look, eyes flickering from the wound back to her face. She laughed. "No, not that. Just… company. I hate visiting the Fade without a companion. Especially in such poor condition."

He opened his mouth to correct her, to say that her physical appearance had very little to do with her appearance in the fade, but thought better of it. Instead he nodded.

"I can accept those terms, da'mi."


	6. The Truth

Oh my god I am overwhelmed. You guys are so sweet. It's been literal years since I've been active on this site, so I'm not quite sure what the etiquette is for thanking the reviewers but please be assured that I have been reading them ten times a day. My ego is at maximum capacity. (Also people specifically liking Cha'cer? That is so sweet of you, oh my god.)

So I guess here's another update because I am right there with you on the cravings and these two will not get out of my head. Be forewarned, there is smut. I… have actually never written smut before and I agonized over whether or not I should post this. But the joke potential was absolutely overwhelming and I had to take it.

Adi, don't you dare judge me and please don't tell my mother.

…

I

…

_Midnight had come and passed at Skyhold. The usual patter of feet that could be heard until late into the night had died out. A few of the torches adorning the walls flickered out with inattention and the halls echoed with the sounds of leaves brushing against stone. For the first time in her entire life, Cha'cer was struggling to stay silent._

…

II

…

It had started as a prank. The rogue had discovered her bizarre talent for moving silently could have some incredibly entertaining effects when applied to those who weren't stiff lipped Dalish Keepers. The first victim was Sera who had made the mistake of starting a prank war. The other elf was an easy enough target if a mite unpredictable. She crouched in Sera's corner waiting for her to return from the kitchens and leapt out to surprise her with a shout. She nearly got shot (again) and did not avoid the crash and tumble out of the recently repaired window. But it was worth it for the horrified shriek. Next she tried Iron Bull (nearly got skewered), Josephine (slapped), Cassandra (punched), and—once she felt ballsy enough—Leliana. The last of whom promptly threw her off the balcony with no sign of mercy.

It took her a week to properly walk straight again after Blackwall tackled her to the ground thinking she was a thief but it was so very, very worth it. Cha'cer had discovered that she had a one hundred percent chance of succeeding when sneaking up on her comrades. The previoiusly distant inquisitor was suddenly all too happy to be a part of everyone's daily routine if it meant a small chance of playing tricks and games. Her pranks got more elaborate with practice, too. She managed to tie a bow on Bull's right horn before he noticed one night at the bar. She had even stolen Cole's hat and worn the damn thing for a whole ten minutes before he snatched it back. She was getting better and better at drawing laughs from the new recruits.

Unfortunately being popular with her people made her a bit less inconspicuous. Her stealth was well renowned after three or so weeks and the element of surprise had gone. Like her Keeper had once begged her to do, she let the pranks go and things settled back into a comfortable simmer.

Except, of course, where Solas was concerned.

She took incredible joy in surprising him. He always managed to look so flustered. Once she had tapped Dorian's shoulder, whispered 'watch this' then lept silent as an owl from the balcony down to Solas' office. She caught herself with a padded roll and pushed herself lightly onto her feet again. She stood a hairs breadth away from his back but was not quite tall enough to whisper in his ear. Instead, she blew a gentle puff of air at the back of his neck. She very quickly got a paintbrush full of blue slashed across the bridge of her nose. Dorian just about died on the spot.

"_V-Vhenan_," Solas tried to catch his breath, "I am not sure how you manage that. Perhaps the anchor—"

"'May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps', right? I just happen to be better than most," she said. Cha'cer recited the words like the good Dalish hunter she was supposed to be with a wolfish grin of her own. Solas looked taken aback for a split second before relaxing into a small smile.

…

III

…

The next time she tried her stunt, it was less dramatic. This was partially because it was unobserved, she would admit later, but mostly because she was hoping for a _very_ specific reaction. She hardly had to tip-toe around the scaffolding to escape his notice. A few carefully placed steps and watching the dance of her own shadow in the firelight gave her enough guide to stay out of his vision as long as she intended. Luckily for her victim, Cha'cer had never been known for her patience.

She pressed her chest into his back with a soft nuzzle and drew her arms around his waist. He gave a small jump of surprise. No indignant squawk however, she noted with a pout. Solas carefully set down the paint palette and brush before turning around in her locked arms to kiss the top of her head.

"To what do I owe this surprise, _vhenan_?" His voice was softer at night, hushed to match the halls of Skyhold. She felt a comfortable smile spread across her face.

"Well I was sitting in my office thinking about the millions of people I have yet to disappoint and thought, ah! What a perfect time to seek the advice of my personal fade expert." She paused for effect, looking to him to say what he was supposed to. Solas smiled and played along.

"I hardly think you are capable of disappointing anyone, _da'mi_. If anything—"

"Wrong answer," she interrupted with a melodramatic sigh. "We were looking for 'And what, O all-powerful Inquisitor, could you possibly need to know about the fade?'"

He laughed. "Alright, I can manage that I believe. O tiny glowing vessel of luck itself, how could I lend my assistance to your quest for knowledge?"

"Close enough," she grinned. "And I was hoping you would answer a question for me."

"I can certainly try."

"I know I'm no mage," she started, "but is it possible to use the anchor to my advantage when, well…"

"Sneaking?" he offered.

"I prefer shadow walking. It sounds less skeezy," she said, scrunching her nose up at the word. He lifted an eyebrow that she pointedly ignored. "But that thing you do with the fade where you—"

"Fade stepping?" Solas looked surprised. It was not an exceptionally complicated maneuver but he was surprised at the source of the request. Cha'cer had confided her discomfort with the Fade to him in private. Or rather, her discomfort with the consequences of visiting the Fade. The place itself didn't seem to bother her so much as the carnage she had come to associate with it. It was a fair correlation in a case such as her own.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Sort of. Though perhaps more like a boost. You know?"

He gave her a quizzical look. She huffed a bit and stepped out of their embrace. She positioned herself a meter or so back from him and mimed throwing the smoke pellets she used to vanish into thin air. Once her hand was splayed outwards she paused the motion and pointed to it with her other hand.

"It's my anchor hand. Right?" She glanced up to make sure he was watching. "So why not cast a small rift of my own to give me a boost to get where I'm going? Like a gust of wind or something."

The thought intrigued him. He paced over to where she stood and slid calmly behind her. He did not miss the small intake of breath or the flush creeping up the back of her neck. With a gentle hand he pulled her back into her neutral position. Again she slowly mimed the action and froze just as she threw the imaginary smoke pellets. This time his hand followed hers. The hum of the anchor buzzed against the skin of his palm.

"Do you feel that?" he asked. She swallowed thickly and nodded. He couldn't stop his smile if he had tried. "Not me, _vhenan_, the anchor. It pulses with you. Listen to it and wait."

She repeated the movement, this time with Solas squeezing her palm just lightly to help her find the heartbeat that lived separate from her own. She closed her eyes and tried the movement again. Again. And again once more, before nodding. She stepped forward away from his grasp with some reluctance.

"I believe I can try," she said. He walked swiftly back to where he had stood in front of her and she shot him a puzzled look. He offered a look of complete confidence.

"I'll catch you if it fails, _da'mi_. Remember to focus."

…

IV

…

The first time she did it successfully in the heat of battle she nearly shrieked with joy. It had been months of training but now with one fluid movement, she could vanish from her enemy's eyes only to appear again once she had used the momentum of a closing rift to rip through them like cloth. It was fearsome to watch, even if the wielder of the new trick had a tendency to gleefully shout, "_Did you see that_?"

Solas was proud.

The next time she did it was supposed to let her practice finesse. She had ditched her armour in favour of light movement and faced her opponent in the warmth of Solas' study. Their shadows danced across the half-way painted walls behind them as they mirrored each others footsteps. Solas loved watching her like this. Her normally wide-eyed and cheerful demeanor swapped to something lethal when she applied focus. Her eyes unashamedly met his with cold determination and she did not have to waiver from her gaze to know exactly where to place each step with careful deliberate action. He matched her as best he could but there was something graceful in her movement that he could not mimic. Instead, he watched for her tells. Trying to predict when Cha'cer would attack was a deadly gamble.

_There_. A twitch.

He Fade Stepped quickly out of her path, or so he had thought. Cha'cer pinned him to his own desk with the tip of her finger just barely touching the skin above his Adams apple. She dragged her finger slowly across his neck with a grin.

"I win again, _vhenan_."

His breath caught. The orange light from the torches highlighted the tips of her eyelashes and the feathering of her hair. Her lips were so close to his, so unbearably close. His struggled to look anywhere other than _those lips_ and she must have noticed. It did not take her more than a second to stretch up onto her toes and close the gap. His hands slithered around her waist as he sat back onto the desk and pulled her closer.

Her fingers pried under the hem of his tunic cautiously, pulling at the fabric. He pushed his own hands under her shirt in response, relishing the heat radiating from her skin. He murmured something in Elvish in her ear and watched her shiver with giddy delight. Suddenly he was thankful for the long row of brass buttons being on the front. He had planned on taking his time with each one to savor the moment, but now that she was here in front of him insistently tugging his tunic over his head he had to contain himself from ripping them apart. The clothing was tossed roughly aside and ignored in favour of pressing skin to skin.

Her hands spread across his chest and shoulders with fingernails scraping down, down, down. His own hands found their way behind her and pressed enough to guide her into his lap. The pressure and heat had him swollen and eager. By the way she rocked into him and drew patterns on his back, he assumed she had noticed. He broke their kiss hastily.

"_Vhenan_, are you sure—" he started, but her hands spoke for her. With several slow pulls and flicks of her wrist she had him in her hands. He bit down hard on the soft patch of skin between her shoulder and neck and waited until she could adjust atop of him. She lowered herself with such maddening delay that he couldn't help but push her hips down lightly until she whimpered.

"Brace yourself," she whispered.

It dawned on him that it was an odd thing to say in the position she was in only fast enough that he registered the rift she opened behind them. The blast from it threw them clear across the room. Cha'cers back took the brunt of it, slamming against the wall and winded her slightly, but she kept her legs wrapped firmly around him. His eyes were wide in shock as she giggled. He opened his mouth to protest but a quick roll of her hips changed his mind

Instead he pushed her bare back against the cold slick paint still wet from his earlier work. There was nothing to shelter her skin from the torchlight save for the barracks he had built to reach the ceiling. The wooden planks offered a small intimate space enough to make her feel like he was going to fuck her into the tapestry. He was hot breath and teeth against her throat. One hand pressed her arm into the wall and the other wrapped tightly around her reaching low enough to rake his fingertips across her ass. In kind, she clawed her free hand into his shoulder with muttered encouragement.

Her mouth was hot and wet against his cheeks and ears. She whispered broken phrases of praise and adoration with each thrust. She pushed and arched her back off the wall to press further into him. He watched her with reverence, hungrily taking in every detail. She lowered her gaze to meet his with heavily lidded eyes and parted lips. He pushed deeper into her with a shudder she matched with an appreciative whine. He crashed his mouth against hers in a futile attempt to quiet them both breaking away shortly when they remembered to breathe. Cha'cer whispered something he couldn't quite hear.

"_Emma isala ma, Cha'cer_. Speak up." he growled into the crook of her neck, annunciating the important words with a soft bite on the muscle beneath the end of her collarbone and the start of her shoulder. She gasped.

"_Fen'harel_ take me, Solas. I cannot take much more of this." Her voice was hushed but eyes were pleading. He pressed her into the wall as with gentle deliberation and held. She quaked with impatience but he stood firm. His eyes locked on hers full of desperate _want_.

"_Say that again_."

…

V

…

Solas found himself in the comfortable embrace of a naked elf for the first time in a very, very long time. Cha'cer nuzzled closer, unable to have enough contact. She pressed the anchor hand close to his heart. The twinge of fade magic mingled with his heartbeat in a way that reminded him of the Fade. They had managed to find their way to her quarters eventually. Something about bare skin mixed with the chill of late night air had guided them towards soft quilts and furs.

She pushed herself up on her elbow to look at him, tugging the blankets around her torso. That crooked smile he so loved spread across her face. The spark in her eyes had him lifting an eyebrow warily. She looked like she was trying to stop herself from giggling again.

"By the _Dread Wolf_, I'd say that went well," she grinned from ear to ear. Solas was suddenly as red as the stained glass on the windows. His hands reached up to cover his face in horror. She had no idea what she had stumbled into and he hadn't a clue how he was going to backtrack out of this. Cha'cer laughed and pulled his hands away from his face.

"It's okay, _vhenan_. Your secret is safe with me." She kissed him on the nose. Solas breathed a sigh of relief so deep he'd be feeling it for _weeks_.


	7. Worth

Anduril herself would descend from ancient elven jail or some shit before Cha'cer Lavellan was going to speak to the fucking Chantry of the Maker. The notion had the elf clawing her way up the rubble surrounding the backside of the Haven chantry. Her recently acquired boots dug into the crumbled clay brick clumsily. She was unused to the broad pawing gesture that came with shoes but the blacksmith had been correct in assessing the need for them. Bare feet were not suited for the Frostbacks.

Her fingers clawed into the jagged edges and she ignored the splinters driving themselves under her nails. The camp was surely noting her disappearance by now but she didn't particularly care. Last time she had been seen, she was sprinting out of the war room towards the mountain range. It had taken three separate smoke bombs and two feints to throw Cassandra and Leliana off her tail but it was worth it. She had had two whole hours of peace and silence, albeit in the frigid cold. When the winds had gotten stonger, she began trudging back towards camp dejectedly when the smoke pillar rising from the top of the chantry caught her eye. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant heat. She could stake out her own camp and avoid the denizens of Haven there (namely the armed ones) for just a short while longer before swallowing her pride.

Her legs had long since gone numb from the snow but it helped. She couldn't feel her muscles straining as she made the climb. Once she had to hold herself in place for what seemed like hours while a servant brought out the truly absurd amount of waste. If nothing else, she thought, this was certainly good training for battle. Battles that she desperately hoped to avoid, but still. Perhaps she'd find a particularly vicious rabbit someday instead of a creator forsaken _hole in the sky_. Her feet pushed her up just enough to grab the tops of a particularly sharp stone on the edge of the chantry roof. She dug the tips of her fingers in ignoring the dull ache in her bones and pulled weight with excruciating slowness. That was undoubtedly going to hurt tomorrow.

She got enough of her side over the brick to roll limply onto the old roof only then realizing that it may not be as sturdy as she had hoped. The immediate non-collapse was fairly reassuring, but Cha'cer figured she'd risk it anyway. Her heart wouldn't be broken by the destruction of the war table and the chantry with it. She pulled herself up on to her feet long enough to find the pillar of smoke coming from the kitchens. It smelled like bread and dried fish but it was warm enough. She collapsed into a tired heap in front of it.

She had barely closed her eyes when she heard it: footsteps.

_Shit_. The elf rolled nimbly onto her feet and reached for another smoke bomb when she spotted a very surprised looking Solas. He raised his hands like a surrender and she paused.

"I'm not here to turn you in, Lavellan," he said. "I did not expect to find you at all, actually."

"But you're helping them look," she growled.

"I did not plan on being very helpful. I assumed that if you wanted to leave none among us could stop you. So I came here instead to avoid the search parties. I've never been fond of mobs." He shrugged and walked past her. After a few moments of tense silence he gave her a thoughtful look. "Retrospectively, I suppose looking where the loud search parties were not was a good idea after all. Hm."

Cha'cers eyes followed him, narrowing. She still couldn't decide who to trust and he had only barely made it onto the list of new people she recognized—never mind gave much thought. The taller elf seemed genuinely disinterested in both talking to her and apprehending her, however, instead opting to sit in meditation. _Weird._

"So what, you're just going to stake me out? Wait until I give up and go back?" Cha'cer's nerves were speaking more than her mind and she knew it but couldn't stop the words from tumbling out.

He didn't respond, or even so much as look at her. She felt like a petulant child. She worked consciously to unwind the tension from her back, ease out of the fight-ready stance she had taken and take a deep breath. If she was going to be stuck with the bizarre bald elf until she was ready to return then she was at least going to save herself the tension headache. With a long suffering sigh, she flopped back down on the ground directly being hit by the warm smoke. It felt like being next to a campfire again.

"You should move outside the smoke, Lavellan, unless I suppose you're intending a dramatic gesture."

She groaned irritably. She had been hoping that she could at least convince herself he wasn't there for a while. She turned onto her side so that her back was facing him. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly. _A dramatic gesture_. The words rattled around in her frenzied mind.

"What do you mean?" She spat the words out before she could stop herself.

"Smoke impairs your lungs. Breathe too much and you'll have difficulty running. Plus, it looks theatrical."

She had known that. Of course she had known that. Her Keeper had yelled at her how many times for sitting too close to the fire? Sit back, Cha'cer. Stop reaching into the embers, Cha'cer. Again, she felt like a child. She ran a hand through her hair and summoned the strength to push herself out of the smoke and back into the cold. Quickly the soft flakes in the air nipped at her so recently comfortable skin and she was already beginning to shiver. Something bright and blue flickered around them trapping in sunlight like glass. It wasn't warm, per say so much as lacking cold. She looked over at the mage to her left with a lifted brow but he made no remark. She stared down at her hand.

Green wisps shot out and recoiled from her palm like sharpened tongues seeking something to consume. The first time she had seen it in daylight, Cassandra had told her that it would consume her unless the breach had been stopped. Cha'cer wasn't convinced that threat had passed. The tiny green flames still burned coldly, just enough so that she was tempted to hold the hand close to her chest. Tempted but not foolish enough to try.

A glance to her side told her that Solas stared at her hand as well with a softer expression than her own. It was hard to tell if he was concerned for the magic the mark promised or the host that wore it. She watched his hand travel cautiously to where she lay the marked hand to rest on her knee. He looked at her for permission and she nodded. With the distance afforded of someone who had recently seen to her medical needs, he lifted her hand so that he could see better the magic seeping from her skin.

"The mark of a god, supposedly," he muttered. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the mark. He always looked so concentrated. Like it was an effort of will to continue existing as he was. Catching himself staring, he glanced at her apologetically and let go of her hand. She returned it to its perch on her knee.

"So," he said. "The gift thousands have died for has come to you. What will you do with it?"

"Seal the breach, obviously." She responded easily.

"Obviously?" A smile played quietly just at the edge of his features. "You don't intend to conquer Orlais? Lay siege to Antiva and burn Ferelden to the ground?"

Cha'cer's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. "Why would I do that?"

"Not sure. But you could. Surely you have realized this."

His words struck her like a physical blow. There was a hole billowing in the sky above her where demons raged as they fell to Thedas but this horrible jagged new edge to the inside of her palm scared her most. She could not bring herself to look away from it.

"No," she said carefully. "I couldn't."

"Why is that?"

Her nose twitched and her eyes flashed in irritation, still locked on her own palm. She chewed her lip and found no answer in the tiny rips she made with her teeth. She waggled her fingers just a little, the tips bending towards her just enough so that she could still determine control over her hand. He watched with great interest.

"I just… _couldn't_. I don't know." She pursed her lips and puffed out a breath of air through her nose. "I don't want to, I guess."

He nodded slowly. A weight the size of the mountains weigh heavily on top of her chest, pressing uncomfortably into her ribs. Mark or not, she felt so small.

"That's how they see me," she said quietly. "They see the mark and an elf they don't trust. And why should they? I'm hardly worthy of…" she trailed off, shaking the hand as if to throw off the mark. "Whatever this is."

He remained silent. He met her gaze without flinching away, something that hadn't happened since she'd left her camp. She was growing so accustomed to being treated like greatest shame on Thedas that it was unnerving to be examined without any twinge of fear, hate or pity. She met his gaze stubbornly for a while, though she relished the opportunity to look away first with a small shy smile.

"What," she feigned an injured tone, "no grand words of comfort? Not going to assure me that I'm worthy? I'm _hurt_, Solas."

"I hardly think it is a matter of worth," he said, brows furrowing again. "Whether or not you are worthy, it has come to you regardless."

She flinched a little but covered it with a laugh. _Good_, she thought. _Unworthy it is_. Her silence was tense and her feet twitched like running was still an option. She could slide down the side of the Chantry and start a long trek back to the Free Marches. She was an excellent hunter and would probably survive. Solas interrupted her thoughts once more.

"I do not know you well enough to judge your character, Lavellan, and I will not lie to you." He paused. "If such a worthiness existed, I believe your desire to save the world that gave you this burden is a good omen. That you are still here at all speaks to your strength. I would be interested to see how it ends."

"Preferably with me as a crotchety old elf yelling cautionary tales at youngsters from my well-kept but modest cottage. Some ivy and halla wouldn't hurt," she said with a small wry smile returning to warm her features. He was pleased.

"And it's Cha'cer, by the way. Nice to meet you."


	8. Courtship at its Finest

Sorry for the wait! I've had some stuff going on I couldn't ignore.

As always, thank you guys so much for all your kind words. I've even had a couple prompts sent my way! Though this particular ficlet doesn't answer any of them (sorry!), I promise I haven't forgotten about them. This one takes place shortly after my previous update 'Worth'. I wanted to show a little more about how their relationship started and who they both are outside of the whirling mess of the inquisition. It also occurred to me that this fic has more of an in depth description of Cha'cer than the previous ones. Hopefully that doesn't throw anyone off!

For those that are more curious about what Cha'cer looks like, I've updated the story cover photo with a picture of her in Haven. For the even more curious, I'd suggest looking into my art tumblr (applejuice-and-hemlock). The most recent posts are a couple sketches of her, and one of Nebulad/elvencommander's Saevin (who is adorable and precious and deserves all the love in the world).

Anyway, without further ado, have some nerds being awkward.

…

I

…

Midday sunlight filtered through the overly green leaves rustling in the arching trees above. The forest ceiling whispered in the light wind on an otherwise still afternoon. Cha'cer and Solas had ventured only a short walk from the camp. To call the body of water beside them a lake wouldn't have been accurate. It was, as Cha'cer put it, an exceptionally deep pond. However, much like the lush greenery around them, it was chock full of blood lotus petals, spindleweed flowers, and elfroot.

Cha'cer had her pants rolled up to just under her knee and had ditched her heavy jacket and clunky boots at the bank. Her brand new daggers were covered haphazardly by a large fern leaf—just in case. She had just purchased them in Val Royeaux and had spent literal weeks sharpening and shining them until they gleamed. She was not going to take any chances on them being stolen.

The water around her legs was cold and, despite her efforts, was still making small wet patches at the end of her rolled pants. She didn't mind. The chill of the mud and rocks between her toes was a comfort and the soft breeze touched the sides of her head she had freshly shaven just that morning. The tuft of hair on the top of her head was pulled back and banded like that of a traditional Dalish hunter with the ends of the tail just tickling the back of her neck. Her eyebrows furrowed with concentration as she tried to apply just the right amount of twist to the stem of a blood lotus. Just a little pinch there, a slight flick of the wrist and… She sighed. The petals floated away towards the rest of the failed attempts.

Solas seemed to be having much more luck on shore with the elfroot bushes. Like Cha'cer, he had abandoned his shoes and jacket. On top of the neatly folded pile was the charred jawbone necklace he was always wearing. He had pushed up the sleeves of his tunic to his elbows and somehow managed to avoid being scratched by the thorned bushes surrounding the smaller plants. He had set aside some old rags to lay the leaves on in a particularly sunny patch. They wouldn't be completely dried before camp, but it would make folding them without breaking them easier. He looked completely at ease, separating the leaves, roots and occasional handful of berries into neat groupings.

She didn't mean to stare, but a quick comparison between the wilting petals drifting aimlessly around her calves and the piles and piles of just… plants, had her irked. He'd even arranged the damn leaves in order of size. She brought a hand across her brow realizing only too late that it was coated in the green slick that traced the edges of the water. With a grunt, she pulled the top of her shirt up to wipe at her face instead and shook her head in disgust. A couple strands from her ponytail fell loosely around her face. The elf that had trained her to hunt would've reprimanded her ("a hair in your eye could mean distraction in a fight for your _life_!") or told the bloody keeper, but neither of them were present. Nor was she expecting the fight of her life any time soon.

Like unwelcome magic, the green scar in her hand twinged. Cha'cer absently wondered if the magic could have been what was hurting her chances of collecting particularly delicate flowers. Of course, it was utter bullshit. She knew very well that it was her own lack of delicacy but the nasty green glow made for a great scapegoat. The water rippled and she looked up. Solas was wading towards the patch of blood lotus she had been trying to tame without so much as a shiver at the cold. Cha'cer looked back at the flowers in front of her and wrapped a hand around the neck of her next victim.

"You may want to grasp it a bit lower," he said quietly, taking one of the stems next to hers as an example. He pinched the stem between slender fingers until it broke apart. He handed the flower carefully to her. "The leaves and stem will dry and fall away in the sun. Don't worry about trying to harvest the flower until its ready. The most potent material is in the stamen anyways."

She took the flower lightly, afraid she was somehow going to shake the petals off or light the damn thing on fire. It occurred to her as she held it that she had prepared absolutely no way of storing it. Instead she stood there wide-eyed looking at the flower then at Solas. Much to her dismay, she felt the creep of warm red starting at the pointed tips of her ears and spreading rapidly to her cheeks. Solas, seeming to realize what he had done, at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"I'll, uhm," Cha'cer stuttered. She gestured to the bank side awkwardly with the flower. "I'll put this with your, uh, pile over there. Perhaps we should switch for a while. I wasn't having much luck with these suckers anyway."

He nodded readily and waded past her to take her place on the mud bank.

She stepped carefully around him thankful for the excuse hide her face at least for the moment. She focused hard on the flower in her hands and felt her way through the cloudy water with extra care not to slip. He offered a hand to steady her and she pretended not to see it. Holding his hand was not at all going to help the flush creeping up the back of her neck vanish by the time she reached the shoreline. Likewise, Solas had the courtesy to pretend the gesture had not been extended.

She did not bother to dry off the mud and water soaking her legs, opting instead to let the sparse sunlight take care of it. Bending down to examine Solas' intricate spread of every possible use of elfroot, she opted to place the flower lopsidedly at the edge. It very clearly did not fit in with the pattern but she could not bring herself to fix it. Instead she turned to the wild brush coated in thorns next to it and the small undergrowth of elfroot. Her eyes darted back to the heavy jacket and gauntlets she had placed with her boots.

"I take it from your technique that gathering herbs was a duty you did not carry in your clan?" He asked.

"Well, bringing home the meat home usually got me out of finding the seasoning."

He frowned. She couldn't see it, but she could hear it. "I was under the impression that herbs are not a minor part of life for the Dalish. Am I wrong?"

She had decided to venture without the gauntlets and it was already proving to be a mistake. A thorn from the underbrush pricked at the green glow in her hand and shriveled. Cha'cer yanked her hand back quickly blinking a couple times. The thorn branch she had seen wither appeared as if nothing had happened. She chewed her lip and sat back on her haunches shooting him an irritated look.

"Listen," she said, "if you're wanting the in depth details of Dalish life and culture, you're talking to the wrong elf."

Solas' eyebrows shot up, but he was quieted. Wading into a deeper bit of the marsh had drenched the tip of his rough looking tunic. He tucked another of the flowers into his belt before hastily shrugging the garment over his shoulders and tossing it to the bank with a soft thud. When Cha'cer looked up again, she was greeted by a completely shirtless elven apostate rummaging through a marsh of dark red flowers looking for all the world like one of those books Cassandra was always recommending. She felt her eyes widen and her mouth went dry. Sensing her gaze, he glanced back at her and she hurriedly pretended to be absolutely fascinated by the elfroot plants in front of her—and was suddenly quite grateful for the sobering pricks of the thorns surrounding it.

"Were you only an apprentice then?" he asked, attempting again to break the silence. "I had thought only the younger elves were apprenticed."

"No." She snapped, a bit harsher than she intended. Her eyes remained fixed on the plant in front of her as she abandoned all attempts at dexterity instead just trying to pinch off leaves as quickly as possible and with the least amount of damage.

"I do not mean to pry, Lavellan—"

"Cha'cer."

"—yes, sorry. _Cha'cer_. I only meant to make conversation. Forgive the intrusion."

Cha'cer groaned loudly and rocked back on her heels until she hit the ground in a sprawl. The grass was soft and cool beneath her back and the trees went on about their business oblivious to the tension they sheltered below. It wasn't Solas' fault. She knew that. The topic was a sore one even without the prodding and she'd been prodded enough the past month to last her a lifetime. The sinking feeling in her gut and the menacing green on her hand told her that this was something that wasn't going to go away.

"Solas. It means 'pride', right?" She said, summoning the courage to look at him again. She did make a very determined effort to look only at his face. He met her gaze evenly with a nod. She gestured vaguely towards him. "It's traditional to name a Dalish child something… meaningful. Something from our history or heritage or… whatever. Pride is a weird one, but you're not Dalish so it's probably self-given, right?"

His eyes widened and he began to protest but she waved her hands open palmed to dismiss the need. She continued, "That's your business. What do you notice about my name?"

He stared at her blankly, trying to put her words together. He looked slightly suspicious, like he wasn't sure whether or not this was an attack. She offered a half-hearted grin as a means to placate him but it was a tired one. His features relaxed a little, though the wariness never quite left his eyes.

"Cha'cer is not a traditional name. Nor does it hold any meaning in Elvish." He spoke slowly as if treading through a minefield. She nodded encouragement and made a rolling gesture with her hands to tell him to keep going.

"It's a name you could have made up but aside from recent events, you would have had no need. And there are more convincing Dalish names to cover with anyway." His eyes narrowed, the realization finally dawning on him. "It's not a Dalish name because _you_ are not Dalish."

She scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips looking to the side. "Close," she said. "I _am_ Dalish. Clan Lavellan's third best hunter and, as my Keeper loves reminding me, number one trouble seeker. But you are right. It is not a Dalish name."

"Then—"

"I was _born_ in _Kirkwall_." She interrupted. "And to be accurate, I've only been Dalish for the last ten years. My mother and I were refugees."

Solas could not have looked more frozen to the spot if Vivienne had done the honours herself. His eyebrows had shot up so far they looked like they may try to make a break for it and his mouth hung open just enough that it looked like it took serious effort to begin trying to form words again. The sad look was one she was starting to become very familiar with and it earned him a single berry thrown at his forehead.

"Stop that." She said quickly, arming herself with another berry. He looked indignant.

"I wasn't doing any—"

"You were making the face. The _aw-poor-city-elf_ face. I'm just as Dalish as I need to be. Even without the rituals or the prancing." She placed the berry back on the pile. "And should I desire to bring flowers with my songs or dance naked in the moonlight, I'll give you a heads up."

He laughed, tucking another blood lotus into his belt. By then he had accumulated a large bouquet of the damn things. Cha'cer looked down at her pitiful stack of leaves (most torn) and the pricks spotting across the backs of her hands from the thorns.

"Forgive me, Cha'cer, I misjudged you," he said.

He was wading slowly back towards the waters edge with his bounty. Deft hands pulled the bushel of delicate stems and flowers from his belt. He arranged them in a manner easier to grip without much trouble keeping his balance on the slippery mud. Up until the mossy rocks at the side of the pond that is. Cha'cer saw it coming before he moved to place a foot on the slick rocks and jumped up to grab his hand before he lost balance and the afternoon's work to a miscalculated step. His eyes locked on hers as he steadied himself, drawing up to his full height as he stepped onto the grass. Cha'cer was suddenly reminded of his distinct lacking of a shirt. The red she had thought she'd banished from her cheeks came flooding back at the realization that there was nothing between her and his chest but the bouquet of blood lotuses. Her fingers fumbled around the stems awkwardly brushing against his own. She was hoping beyond hope that perhaps he hadn't noticed her burning ears. He didn't let go of the flowers.

"Though if you should decide you want to dance in the moonlight," he said. She looked up. The small smile creeping across his face told her that she was caught. She swallowed. He continued, "I'd be happy to be your dance partner."

Cha'cer barked out a laugh, snatching the flowers and quickly dumping them unceremoniously on the plant pile. She made a beeline for her jacket and boots, trying hard to surpress the very un-hunter like giggle threatening to bubble up from the back of her throat. She haphazardly brushed the strands of hair that had fallen loose back into the ponytail and shrugged on her jacket. She shoved her feet (though they were still damp) back into her boots and slung the dagggers into the sheaths on her back.

Pretending for all her might that her face was not still bright red, she gestured for Solas to follow her back to the campsite. The taller elf had (thankfully) put his tunic back on, but the smug smile was unmistakable. Cha'cer's heart skipped a beat. _Well, shit_. She thought. _That's going to complicate things._


End file.
